Conversations After and Before
by bobtherat
Summary: Series of Mike and Phoebe drabbles based off the episodes where they were (actual or implied) together and their imagined conversations. One-off per episode. Mike and Phoebe fluff mostly.
1. After The One With the Pediatrician

**AFTER THE ONE WITH THE PEDIATRICIAN**

Half past eleven.

The collection of low voices and city rhythm blending together into a ceaseless, dreamy hum around him suddenly catches his attention. A little while back, he seemed to have heard nothing else than the sound of her voice but at the abrupt pause, her sentence melts quickly enough into the background and he wonders for a second how long he's been staring at her. Wordless.

Mike tenses.

"I had a really great time," Phoebe smiles. Her eyes searching his face.

His fists open and close, fingers tucking themselves into his palms the way they do in situations like this. Just like when he walked on stage toward the baby grand on his very first recital. Or every moment since then that he had to give a very good impression.

"Great," Mike manages to croak out before straightening himself up again. "That's… er… great. I'm… I had a great time, too."

She giggles slightly, shifting her eyes down to her feet.

"Now, I feel bad."

Mike hesitates. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I gave Joey a really hard time last night for what happened. You know, I was so busy being mad that I didn't… even realise how… cute the stranger he picked off the street for me was."

Her green eyes sparkle against the smoky, blue filter of the lamp post lights and he badly wants to understand how his heart could be beating _that_ fast already.

"Can I tell you something?" he distracts himself as they walk on, lifting his gaze from her and pinning it to the ground.

"Of course," Phoebe replies.

"We've actually seen each other before."

"Really? I don't…" she bites on her lip before finishing. "When was that?"

"Around a month or a little more than a month ago."

She stares at him, curious, in reply.

"At the coffee shop."

Phoebe squints a little, tips her head slightly to the side. "I'm sorry. I can't remember."

"I figured you wouldn't," Mike chuckles. "You were rushing out and I was going in at the same time. Said your friend was having a baby. You almost bashed my nose in with the door."

Her eyes widen as though a light bulb just went off her head. "Oh, that's right! Yea, I remember now. Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't hurt you though, did I?"

"Nah, you barely caught me. I leaned back just in time."

"Oh, okay. Good."

Mike watches as his feet take one step after another. A smile pasted on his face. For a beat, they carry on in silence. He, happy enough to watch their strides going on in the same direction. The words in his head though seem to have a mind of their own.

He looks up at her again and the words just come out of his mouth.

"To be honest, I hung around the coffee shop more often after that happened."

Phoebe tosses her hair back and they stop walking.

"How come?" she slides one hand up and down her arms before crossing them in front of her.

"Well, I was kind of hoping I would see you again. I wanted to check if you were really that beautiful or… if my dreams were exaggerating."

It might have come out cheesier than he intended, however true it was. But her cheeks are flushed when she turns away from him and if he does not walk away that night with at least a kiss, he can take that moment with him to bed until the next time he sees her and that would be enough somehow.

"So have you checked now?" Phoebe asks, a little sheepish.

He looks at her as intently as he can. The periphery suddenly becomes a blank navy sleet. "You're gorgeous," he whispers.

She looks away, runs her hand up and down her arms again.

Mike feels a crash back to the city. The moment, over just like that. Everything and everyone on the street returns just as quickly as they disappeared for a split second.

"Are you cold?"

"No, I'm…" she looks up behind her, toward the building. "I'm here. This is me. Erm. This is where I live."

"Oh, okay," Mike stumbles, catching her hand to lead her to the door. He realises it might have been a little too forward but her hand fits snugly enough in his, he does not bother thinking twice anymore.

"Well, I had a great time," he exhales with a laugh. "I know I said already but… I really did."

"I know, I had a great time too." Her fingers tremble as they fiddle with the keys.

"I'll buy Joey a cappuccino tomorrow… since he sort of got us together in the first place," Mike notices her shaking hands and something that lights up in her face exactly when his eyes lock onto hers. "Are you sure you're not cold?"

He holds his coat by the lapels in a move to take it off but never gets to it. All of a sudden, her lips are against his. Her body is against his. And her hands are on top of his own on the lapels of his coat that hung an inch away from his back after that all of a sudden.

A gust of wind brushes against his neck just when she pulls away.

"Erm. Do you want to come inside?" Phoebe asks with a slight shiver. "I'd really like to try on your coat."

* * *

 **Author's Note:** New Mike/Phoebe story up. My hard drive crashed a month ago and everything is gone now. So, while I'm bored trying to get everything back still, I'll do drabbles instead for now. If anyone would like to be a sweetheart and cheer up an old miserable creature with a read & review of this little slice, it would be much appreciated. Cheers!


	2. After The One With the Sharks

**AFTER THE ONE WITH THE SHARKS**

Mike adjusts himself slightly to get her closer, locking one hand on the small of her back and balling the other into a fist as he props his head up. Her bedsheets smell like peppermint and patchouli, he thinks, and he honestly would much prefer to keep kissing her but the question in his mind hangs around still.

"So, you've never been in a relationship with any of them?"

He blurts out. Finally.

"Nope."

"Really? Ever?"

Phoebe giggles. "Well, I've kissed all three of them…" she hesitates, "…on occasion."

"Oh," it comes of his mouth softer than he intends. Almost like a whisper.

Mike feels her searching his face.

"So… so you've kissed all three – Joey, Ross, and… who's the other guy?"

"Chandler—"

"—Chandler… but you've never dated any of them?"

She bites on her lip and he wonders for a second if she's filtering her words, but why would she?

"We've had encounters. But nothing that ever got anywhere serious, I mean. Just… you know…"

Phoebe's eyes widen a little and Mike sees his reflection clearly mirrored in them. He turns away, a little uncertain of how he should feel. Or what he is feeling at the moment, for that matter. She seems quite adept at reading people, that much he can tell, and he does not want to give himself away that easy. It's far too early and whatever they have at the moment is far too good to give in to that.

"You… you're not jealous though, right?"

She places a hand on his chest, tilts her head slightly until he faces her.

"No, of course not," Mike denies. Forced, he knows, but hopes she doesn't notice.

"Good. 'Cause you know you shouldn't be," she smiles widely at him, green eyes twinkling. "They're like my brothers. And besides, they belong to other people. You know, Ross with Rachel, Chandler with Monica, Joey with…"

Mike watches her eyes dart around the room for a brief moment like she was searching for any word to finish.

"… well, Joey belongs with food… and other girls, I think. Lots of other girls. He's special, you know," Phoebe chuckles. "He's very sweet but I don't… really know who he belongs with."

He raises an eyebrow, a little afraid to ask her to elaborate any further.

"Anyway, my point is, my friendship with them is pretty much the longest relationship I've had with any guy _ever_. I've never really had a boyfriend who stuck around for as long as any of them had. And that's strictly what we have is friendship…more than anything else."

His heart pounds a little but the answer seems to be satisfying enough. He beams, runs his hand from her back up to her shoulder and down her arm.

"I guess I can take that. 'Friendship more than anything else.' That's good to know," he leans down to brush his lips on hers, exhaling contentedly. It was the answer he wanted to hear. For the most part, at least.

"So," he sighs once he pulls away. "How about you? Do you know who you belong with?"

He tries to smirk teasingly and she giggles nervously in reply. He takes a sharp breath, a quiet sort of victory suddenly sweeping inside him. She's adorable when he gets her nervous like that, he thinks. And he knows it's stupid but it feels like such a win every time. Because he's seen her in action. The woman can _flirt. Disarmingly well_ , in fact. So every nervous laugh or flushed smile, he will take with gusto.

She rolls on top of him unexpectedly. A mischievous, girlish grin playing on her lips, and he knows she definitely read him. All of a sudden, he remembers how naked he is and how he isn't on his own bed either.

"I don't know," she asks, feigning innocence. "Who do you think I belong with?"

"I… erm… unghh…"

He feels a warm rush of blood course through his veins. The flashes of colours in his head between black and white blur and clear out his vision at the same time. Just like that, he is rendered mute. And when she rolls off of him with a kiss on the cheek and a laugh, he could see just how much she enjoyed taking his momentary win away from him.

Phoebe sits up on the bed, completely unclothed with her back toward him.

"Hey, I don't think that's fair," he follows her lead and sits up on the bed as well, pulling the blankets over himself.

"What is?" she asks as she gathers her hair over her shoulder.

"You read me."

Mike pouts playfully when she turns toward him, crossing his arms over his chest. She chuckles and leans in.

"Ugh. You are too cute—" she cuts herself off when her lips touch his, hand cupping his face gently, and pulls away just as hastily.

He feels disappointed when she does not linger as long he would have wanted her to. And a little stupid that he is actually listing points in his head as to who is getting the upper hand in the room at the moment.

She gets up from the bed, shaking him out of his thoughts.

"Where are you going?" Mike asks as he slides over to the edge of the bed, catching her hand before she walks away.

"Shower," she replies. "I have a massage client in an hour. I've to go get dressed."

He turns her around and wraps his arms around her waist, still sitting on the bed.

"Can I shower too?"

"Sure," she shrugs. "I'll be done in about ten minutes."

Mike snickers.

"You know, we can save time and water if we just do it together."

Her eyes widen a bit at the suggestion and he sees her clamp her teeth onto her lower lip with a nervous smile. He snickers. She'll get points for flirting again later, he's sure. But whatever the board in his mind says by the end of the night, he knows he's scoring big any which way anyway.

She cocks her head slightly upwards, lips pursed, and he knows she's just done it again.

"Huh, you want to play it like that, do you?" she grabs his hand and he stands up promptly to follow her lead.

"Alright then, come on, let's go save water."


	3. After The One With Phoebe's Birthday

**AFTER THE ONE WITH PHOEBE'S BIRTHDAY DINNER**

They walk on slowly, deliberate and careless chatter rising thickly over the rustle of feet rushing past them. A loose mass of six continuing against a steady current of unmindful people, and pretty much taking ownership of a particularly busy sidewalk strip without their even realising. The girl with platinum blonde hair whispers something to the brunette girl and she laughs out loud. The guy in plaid exclaims something about peanut butter – or something that sounds kind of like that, and hops a couple of steps in front of the group but no one seems to be paying attention. Certainly not the other guy in plaid, the taller one with khakis instead of denims. He seems too busy ogling and hovering over the other blonde girl. She's currently maintaining an entirely different conversation over the phone to notice though. Nor the other guy, the one clad in leather. He's too busy ogling every other girl walking past.

They turn down a corner and Phoebe listens closely as their laughter disappears after them.

"Enjoy it while it lasts, kids," she mumbles to herself, taking a swig of beer.

Mike sighs, a thoughtful look on his face as he watches her flip a lock of hair over her shoulder. She's wearing his t-shirt and pajama bottoms now, instead of the fancy brown dress she greeted him with earlier that night. Her neatly made ponytail has long since been tousled after all the places they've gone to and all the things that they've done there. It's been three hours since her birthday ended and now they're standing on the balcony of his apartment, beers in hand, letting the cool smog of early New York dawn brush by their faces.

He's done his best, really. Still, it doesn't seem to be good enough.

"I know this wasn't really what you wanted—"

Phoebe's eyes go wide upon hearing him.

"No, n-no. That's not what… no, please don't…" she cuts him off, stammering. "Please don't think that."

Mike laughs weakly, his eyes shifting to his hand on the railing. He grips it tighter.

"Phoebe…"

"No, this is what I want, Mike, _this is_ ," her hands settle just below his shoulders and she nods her head at him, trying to convince him.

He whispers in reply. "This isn't what you wanted for your birthday, you know that."

"Of course, it is! I'm having fun, see? Happy birthday, Phoebe!" she throws imaginary confetti into the air and chuckles softly. "Happy birthday to me…"

Mike raises his eyebrows and smirks at her. Gently, he lifts her hands from his shoulders and places them at the back of his neck. He wraps his arms around her waist and she kisses him tenderly.

" _This_ is what I want," she places her forehead against his when she pulls away. " _You're_ what I want."

He exhales sharply. "Maybe. But I'm not the only one you want, am I?"

Phoebe sighs and distances herself from him. She stares ahead at the people still walking below, her hands dangling over the railing. She had been chipper earlier, beaming when she met with him outside the piano bar, though it wasn't the sort of smile he had been used to seeing on her. Her smiles are pure and transparent – almost childlike in its genuine happiness, whenever she smiles for him. Outside the bedroom of course. Tonight though her smile is just as transparent, only it reflects disappointment and frustration instead. Besides a tinge of relief which he assumes, and hopes, is for him.

"Why don't you just tell me what happened at dinner tonight?" he rubs his hands on her back, lightly massaging her, and waits patiently for an answer. "It might make you feel better."

Mike hears her catch a gulp of air before her shoulders start shaking. She whispers something for a moment before speaking audibly.

"Everything's just changing so fast now, you know…"

She covers her face with her hands and the rest of her sentence becomes muffled.

"…the same anymore…" Phoebe turns around and buries her face in his shoulder. "We're all becoming… too grown-up. And it feels too fast. Everything is just so… different now… and it's all happening so fast."

She starts crying. Mike envelops his arms around her tight to soothe her.

"I'm losing them, Mike. I'm losing my friends. It took me so long to find people I can call a real family and now, I'm losing them…"

He kisses her head and runs his hand over her back. "You're not losing them, Phoeb. They _love you_ , you know that."

She pulls away from his embrace and wipes her tear-streaked face with the back of her hand.

"Oh, really? They love me? _They love me_?," she asks him, her tone rising. "People who _love you_ don't bail on you at the last minute that you expect them to be by your side, okay? And-and people who love you don't show up to your birthday dinner like a reluctant child having five teeth pulled out at the same time. They don't forget to call to say 'sorry, Phoebs, we're going to be late because the two of us are trying to make our own baby and the two of us can't take care of our own baby.' People who love you don't do that…"

Her voice breaks when she trails off. "They don't do that because…because they know you… and they know how much you need them to love you… because no one has ever been there before to do that… to love you as much they have."

Phoebe hastily wipes her tears away with her fingertips.

"I know I'm being selfish and petty… and I can't…" she chokes, "…I can't say I've been that good of a friend."

"Don't say that," Mike cups his hand over her cheek, running his thumb gently over her flushed skin.

"It's true," she reasons, her tone rising once more. "I teased Ross today, I told him I wanted only Rachel to come. I scolded Chandler because he smelled like cigarettes. And I've just…you know… I mean, I know how I can… sometimes… sometimes, I can just get really mean when I tease any of them."

She sighs and moves closer, clinging to him.

"But all I really wanted was just to be with them on my birthday. All six of us together, and just feel like it's the old times again. Like… like all of us are still as important to each other as we used to be. Even with the babies that have come and the babies that are coming, you know? I just… wanted to make sure that we're all still best friends."

Mike lets her cry on his shoulder, mute, reduced to nothing else than listening to her.

"It just feels so weird to see them all changing into different people right in front of me. I'm happy for them but then sometimes it's like… I don't even think I know who they are anymore. It's all unnerving. All of it… just feels unfamiliar. And…and a part of me just wants to test if these people will still love me… regardless. Even if I'm being really mean to them sometimes. Even if I'm the worst version of myself, will they still love me? Can they still… love me?"

She starts sobbing again.

"It's so selfish… I'm being selfish, I couldn't even stay at the same table with them since they clearly would rather be somewhere else. But… without them, I… I don't know if I can go back to being alone."

He can feel her heart pounding against his chest, her body shaking almost violently, and he wants so much to find the words – any word – to take away her pain, but there's nothing. He can only hope he would be enough to hold her together. Every other part of her at least, if he can't piece back the shards of her heart.

"I'm right here, Phoeb…"


	4. After The One With the Male Nanny

**AFTER THE ONE WITH THE MALE NANNY**

There's no place like Central Park in autumn. Cloudless blue skies. Dry leaves of brilliant red and yellow hues falling off tree branches like spare confetti. The symphony of twittering birds and water splashing against the banks. All blending with idle chatter and the nearby ruckus of city traffic. It is midday Thursday a week into November and there is no other place in the world better to be.

Mike drums his fingertips on his knee as he takes in his surroundings. It's getting chillier by the day, he notes, a draft brushing past his neck. His fingers are starting to stiffen quicker as the season wears on, as has always been the case. He can tell the time of year based on how nimbly he can move his hands over the piano keys and autumn, beautiful as it is, has never been as kind to his piano playing as spring or summer.

He looks up and whistles a series of notes to a Mendelssohn piece, trying to distract himself as he waits for Phoebe. His head replaying bits of their conversations the night before.

" _I'm sorry. I'm_ so _sorry. If you… if you want your key back I totally understand._ "

For a second, there had been resignation in her voice, he realised. She was bracing for him to walk away but he didn't.

" _It's never gunna happen again, right?_ "

" _Right. Never. Never, I swear._ "

He has had his share of relationships, of course. Those that have failed and those that in hindsight might have not, but ultimately did. And he knows he can't fault her for having a similar share of her own. But he would be lying if he said it doesn't bother him, thinking how he compares to the guys she's been with before.

" _You should know she really cares about you… in fact, I don't think you realise just how lucky you are, fella…_ "

David seemed like a nice guy. Really, he did. And if he had been anybody else's boyfriend, he probably wouldn't be so annoyed with that name right now. If he had come back from Minsk to kiss anybody else but Phoebe, then he probably wouldn't have minded so much. Or at all, even.

" _I do care about you, Mike. I care about you a lot and I mean it. I'm with you, okay? Not David._ "

He exhales sharply, Mendelssohn floating away with the wind when he stops whistling. He promised her he wasn't mad anymore and he's not. He believes her. Even when he hears something in her voice break when she says his name. _David._ He really gets worked up still though when he thinks about it.

Her long golden hair appears in the distance. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees it, shimmering in the sunlight, bouncing along as her steps get nearer to him. Finally, Mike thinks, she's here.

"Phoebe," he feels himself smile as he says her name.

He raises his hand up to catch her attention, and notices something slightly different about her.

"Phoebe!" he calls out, making a start toward her.

She's walking quickly and he doesn't understand why she's clad in all black clothes today, but he picks up the pace nonetheless.

"Phoeb—Phoebe!"

There aren't a lot of people in the park as of yet and he knows she can certainly hear him but she's not looking at him. _Why isn't she looking back_?

"Hey, Phoeb—" he grabs her hand loosely with a huff and at last, she turns around to look at him.

"Hey… hi… I've..." he says, a little out of breath, "…I was calling you… back there… I was sitting right there."

He points a thumb over his left shoulder, to the bench where he had been sitting. She looks at her hand, limply hanging in his grip, and gives him a blank stare before tilting her head sideways.

"What?"

Mike laughs weakly as he tries to hide his confusion. "I was sitting right over there. I was waiting for you. You probably… probably didn't…"

He stares at her unwittingly, beginning to notice details that suddenly don't seem to add up.

"…see me there…"

Phoebe doesn't wear her hair like this, he thinks. At least, not that he's seen her wear it half tied up high like this before. And he doesn't recall seeing her wear this many layers of black clothing. She always has something colourful, something bright and cheery from her wardrobe to put on. But the woman in front of him right now _is_ Phoebe. Same hair, same body, same twinkling green eyes – it _is_ his girlfriend. _Right_?

She raises an eyebrow just a little as she smirks.

"I'm sorry. You're cute but erm—I don't think I've met…"

"Heyyy, Ursula…"

Her gaze shifts quickly from his eyes onto whoever or whatever else is behind him. Hurriedly, she shakes her hand away from his grip and walks past him.

Mike turns around, confused, as he watches her snuggle up to a burly guy with a tennis racket strapped to his knitted tunic and a blue Mohawk sitting proudly on top of his head.

"Hi, you—" she smiles at him.

"My name's Spike."

"Right, Spike, yea…"

The man wraps his hefty arms around her waist and lifts her, and she seems to giggle as they kiss.

Mike watches as they walk away, a haze of thoughts swirling in his mind. Ursula. Her name is Ursula.

"Not Phoebe," he whispers to himself.

She steals one last look his way, smiling at him meaningfully, and he finally determines that it's not Phoebe. Else, he would have felt something more concrete than just confusion. He would have felt something akin to what he felt catching David with _the real Phoebe_ last night. He would have felt riled up – just the thought of her being with someone else more than bothers him. But that other woman – that Ursula – looked at him with his girlfriend's face and all that ran through him was bewilderment.

"A twin?" he asks softly to nobody. _Could it be possible that Phoebe has a twin_?

Mike stays put in his place. His mind, arranging what just happened into a coherent sequence of events. They have long disappeared from view – Ursula and… Spike, but he carries on staring after them. Oblivious to the muffled patter of footsteps sneaking up behind him. Until everything goes black.

"Guess who?" Phoebe's voice chirps happily in his ear all of a sudden. Her question stifling back a giggle. "I'll give you a clue: she's sweet and cute and she made you your favorite sandwich to eat for lunch at the park today."

Mike runs his fingers over her hands, gently placed on top of his eyes, covering them.

"Oh, but minus the meat ingredients because erm—well, I don't really support that."

The pads of his fingertips press lightly and slide between the gaps and over her smooth skin. Just like when they fall and slide perfectly over the piano keys, his fingers feel right against hers. They fit perfectly.

Mike laughs and turns toward her, as she peels her hands away from his eyes.

"I'm not sure it qualifies as a ham sandwich without any ham."

Phoebe beams widely at him and he recognises its familiarity instantly.

"Ah, but you never know. This one might surprise you," she holds out what seems to be the sandwich, wrapped in deli foil.

He looks back at her, mouth agape as if about to say something but the corners of his lips quickly pull up into a smile instead.

"I guess I'll have to find out," he laughs, placing a hand on the side of her neck and pulling her in slightly for a kiss. He takes her hand in one of his and the sandwich in the other, and leads her to sit on a bench.

"So…" he starts, unwrapping his sandwich. "I think I might have seen your twin, Ursula, today."

Phoebe's eyes widen just as Mike takes a big bite.

"Or they might have perfected the science of cloning…"


	5. After TOW Ross's Inappropriate Song

**AFTER THE ONE WITH ROSS'S INAPPROPRIATE SONG**

"I'm not mad, okay? All I'm saying is _he is a bastard and he deserves a good kick up his ass_!"

Mike's eyes shift from Monica to Chandler, who currently has his face buried in his palm, and back again.

"…I can't believe we're back to this…" Chandler mumbles through his hand and Monica side-eyes him.

"Er, _you_ brought it up," she tosses her head matter-of-factly.

"W-what? I made a joke about Ross having a Sir Mix-a-Lot mixtape!"

"Yea, your joke's on you now, huh?" Ross snickers, reaching over the table to get his beer and withdrawing for a second when Rachel lightly slaps him on the arm with a laugh.

"Stop it," she whispers to him, before turning toward Monica. "Honey, you should just let this go, you know. I mean, yea, Richard's a bastard for doing that but you're happily married. What does it matter?"

Monica sighs, looking tenderly at her husband. "Yea, I guess you're right," she runs a hand through Chandler's hair and he finally drops his hand from his face. "I'm sorry, honey."

"Apology accepted," Chandler pulls her down for a kiss. "And please, I beg of everyone in the room, no one brings this up _ever again_. And no, Joey—" he turns away from Monica abruptly toward his friend, "—you may not keep the tape."

"Damn it," Joey curses under his breath.

Mike interlaces his fingers with Phoebe's and smiles up at her, distracting her for a moment from playing with his hair. She seems comfortable sitting on his lap still, although he has noticed she hasn't said a word for a while now.

She was chattier when they entered Ross's apartment. Telling off the two for singing 'Baby Got Back' to an infant before proceeding to laugh about it later with everyone else. She was comfortable there, completely at home with the other five, and he could tell off the bat just how close she is to them. There was a light in her eyes that was different, unfamiliar even to him. But as the night drew on, she began to speak less and started trying to catch his eyes more often. As if she was confirming something, before she eventually tuned out.

A cry from the other room interrupts Chandler before he could finish his sentence.

"Oh no, we must have woken her up," Rachel says, rushing over to Emma's bedroom. "I'm so sorry, you guys."

"No, no, it's okay," Monica says as she stands up, dragging Chandler along. "It's late. We should go."

"Yea, we should do that, too," Phoebe pipes up suddenly, the only words she's said in about a half-hour.

"Oh, okay then," Ross stands as well, walking them over to the coat hangers. "I guess we'll see you guys tomorrow. And hey, Mike—" he says, just before they go out the door, "—it was really nice seeing you."

Mike smiles back, aware of Phoebe's eyes watching him.

"Nice to see you, too," he extends his arm out for a handshake which Ross gladly returns, and lets himself be led away by Phoebe as the door closes.

#

"You're too quiet," Mike hears his voice cut through the sound of honking and cab tires racing along the streets. "What's wrong?"

Phoebe shakes her head, her eyes pinned to the ground, hand holding tighter onto his as they continue to walk.

"Come on, you were chatty when we got to Ross's place. What's up? What happened?"

He lifts her chin so she would look at him. "Did I say anything wrong?"

She turns her head away. "Ugh, Mike…"

"What?" he asks, a little apprehensive now.

" _You didn't say anything_! That's what you said! You said nothing…"

She stops in her tracks and he stares back at her, at a loss for what to say.

"Why don't you like them?" she asks weakly, defeat mirrored in her eyes.

"What—what do you mean?"

"I mean, you didn't say anything when we got there but a couple of… of 'okay's and 'yea's and you didn't find any of Chandler's jokes funny or… or say anything in reaction to any of their stories. You didn't say anything tonight! Why? Why don't you like my friends?"

His mind races for an answer, and he beats himself up because he had told himself this was coming. Stupidly enough, he never got around to preparing for it.

"Phoebe… I…"

"Please don't say they're not good enough for you—"

"What? Of course not!" Mike takes a step back, now visibly hurt by her last statement. "I never and would never even think that!"

Her eyes widen a bit, surprised by the sudden rise in his tone. She loosens her hold on his hand but he fastens his fingers around hers before she can let go.

"Look, Phoebe, I know my parents may have given you the wrong idea but I hope I've proven to you tonight that I didn't take after them in _that_ respect. What would even lead you to think that that would cross my mind?"

He looks at her in disbelief.

"I—I'm sorry," she stammers in reply, "It was just that… you were just sitting there and… and I didn't know… you didn't seem to even try to talk to them! You could've at least tried to say anything!"

She tries to match the shrill in his voice, hoping her reason would appease him.

"Those are my _best_ friends, Mike. I wanted you to like them. They're the closest to _family_ that I've got-"

"Exactly! Don't you think I know that? They _are_ your family, I know, and that just…" he suddenly trails off, his words suddenly becoming more muted. "…that intimidates the hell out of me."

Mike sighs, considering a moment before meeting her gaze. He grabs her other hand in his and clutches both tightly. Oblivious to the rest of the city now.

"I didn't say anything because I didn't know what to say. I was scared I might make a wrong comment or I'd be too blunt or I'd make a stupid joke—"

"Chandler does that all the time," she interrupts him and he laughs weakly. Finally, he breaks.

"Still… I don't know them all that well and… and I got scared I might not make a good impression so I just clammed up."

"But you've met Ross and Joey before. And… and I always tell you stuff about them—"

"Yes, but… it's still different… seeing them with you. You're in an entirely different zone with them, that's unfamiliar to me. Because you're right, they _are_ your _family_. And like you were with my parents, I didn't know what to do, either…"

Phoebe exhales sharply, resigned to his confession, and turns her eyes back to the pavement.

"I'm sorry for yelling," she says softly. "That was dumb and I really didn't mean to…"

Mike lifts her chin in response, taking her face in his hands and pressing his mouth gently onto hers before she can say anything else.

"I'm sorry for yelling back," he breathes, breaking an inch away but resting his forehead on hers still. "And you're wrong."

Her eyebrows furrow in confusion, waiting for him to finish.

"I _did_ say something tonight and I'm gunna say it again," he smiles at her. "I love you. And I mean every word of it."

He kisses her once more and she giggles against his lips. "I love you, too."

"But can you promise me something?" she asks, pulling away as they start to walk again. "Can you promise you'd be more like yourself around them? Please? Just… just promise me that you'd give them a chance to get to know you. They're gunna love you, trust me. I'm _sure_ they will."

Mike looks at her intently, as though trying to translate sincerity. "I promise."

Phoebe smiles wide at him in return. "Thank you. And I… I promise that I'll be good for your parents. I'll try harder… you know… I'll do my best to be more like them. Be more normal."

He drags her hand gently, leading her to a corner of the street under a lamp post, and wraps his arms around her waist before kissing her tenderly. New York at 11:58 PM ticking past them.

Mike whispers in her ear as he envelops her in an embrace.

"That's the last thing in the world I'd ask from you."


	6. After The One With Rachel's Phone Number

**Author's Note:** Hello, you who's reading this. If you've made it this far, please allow me to extend my thanks and congratulations. I don't have a lot of reviews and that's fine, but thanks for reading – or trying to, anyway. Please know I appreciate your effort a lot :)

* * *

 **AFTER THE ONE WITH RACHEL'S PHONE NUMBER**

His mouth is dry when he purses it shut and he takes a second. Clamping his teeth lightly onto his lower lip to draw the blood and scraping back. He swallows, purses his lips again, and opens them slightly to blow out a note. It hangs in the air, suspended for a good half-minute, his fingers running across the keys to find the chord just before his lungs empty out.

Mike closes his eyes, indulging himself. The piano bar will be empty for six more hours. And though ideally he would prefer to be with Phoebe before spending the rest of the night catering to a mostly grateful – later drunken – audience, she had a client and he knew he'd be a distraction. She will be there tonight though, he hopes, so for the meantime he can content himself with thoughts of her in his head and _Liebestraum_ through his fingertips. A travesty if Liszt were alive to hear him, he's sure, but it's been forever and it sometimes is nice to remind himself he still remembers.

His hand hovers above the key just as he finishes and he refuses to open his eyes immediately, choosing instead to let his mind's eye linger over an imaginary concert hall. A long forgotten illusion that has resurfaced only about four months ago. The first time Phoebe begged him to play for her. Once after the piano bar was already closed.

" _No, that's unfair_ ," she giggled, guitar slung over her shoulder as she sat down on the bench next to him." _You can't play just that one part and say you don't remember anymore. Obviously, you do._ "

" _I can't_ ," he felt himself smile weakly at her. " _I'm not a huge Chopin fan._ "

He remembered how uncomfortable it still had been for him then – playing Chopin to his new girlfriend. Especially when he could feel his heart practically give way whenever she was around. The last thing he wanted to do was give Phoebe any reason to believe he wasn't completely over his ex-wife still, because he was. But if he played Chopin, he wouldn't do any of the pieces justice. The right feelings wouldn't accompany his hands. Not anymore. Not when memories of his ex-wife had forever imbued themselves in the notes. She loved Frederic Chopin, and she said she loved him, too. Until she said she didn't anymore and he realised maybe he never really felt that way about her either.

" _How about I play you something else?_ "

" _Okay, like what?_ "

He remembered himself kissing the top of her head as she fell asleep on his shoulder, at the fifth straight Franz Liszt piece he played from memory. _Liebestraum_. He could barely move his right hand when he finished, his arm bearing almost her entire weight.

" _Mmm…that was good…_ " she murmured softly, lifting her head up slightly before snuggling closer once more. "… _is it over?"_

He remembered gently draping his arm around her, knowing full well she wouldn't know if he answered or not. In a few minutes, they would go back home to his apartment to spend the night. And in that span of time, he closed his eyes along with her and drifted with the chords to places he had gone to before, skipping past the last nine years in his memory.

The metal chimes by the door jolt him out of his musing.

"Mike?" Ross calls out, stepping into the piano bar. "Mike?"

He stands up from the bench and makes a start for the door. "Hey, Ross. What's going on?"

"Oh, hey. Erm, sorry, I just… you forgot this at my apartment."

Ross hands over his multi-tool knife quite awkwardly, and Mike remembers they had used it as their beer cap opener the night before.

"I tried to call but you weren't picking up. Anyway, Phoebe said you'd be here so…"

"Oh," he whispers, smiling back weakly as he reaches into his pocket for his phone. He flips it open, 3 missed calls on the screen. "Sorry, I must've hit silent. Thanks, man."

"It slipped my mind to give it back to you this morning."

"Right. At the coffee shop. Yea…"

"Yea."

"Yea-"

Mike nods once at Ross before trailing off. They stand quiet for a moment, neither knowing what to say. Again.

"I—I was actually just playing…" Mike attempts, pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the piano. "Do you want to er…hang back? Maybe—erm—maybe you could play some of your… material?"

"Oh no no," Ross exhales sharply with a slight laugh, voice cutting through the air. "That's okay. I'm just… I'm gunna go."

"Right. Yea. Okay. Well, thanks for er- bringing this back," Mike says, dangling the army knife from his fingers.

"O-okay," Ross sputters, stumbling toward the door. "Bye then."

"Yea… okay… bye."

Mike smiles and shuts the door as soon as Ross steps out and exhales audibly in relief, not bothering to wonder why his mind automatically goes blank whenever Ross is around now. He walks over to the piano, poses his hands over the keys, but bows abruptly, letting out another breath instead.

The door opens suddenly again and Ross storms in.

"Can I just er—can I just ask you something?" his voice reverberates inside the empty room, something less than anger but much more than curiosity flashing in his eyes. "You knew about it, didn't you? They told you, right?"

Mike stands up from the bench, his hands tucking themselves into his pockets almost involuntarily.

"What—what are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about?" Ross lets out a weak laugh, turning his face away defensively before staring at Mike straight in the eyes. "The _guy_ from _the bar_. You were trying to stop me from answering his call, right? They put you up to it. That was why. That was why!"

He begins to pace between the tables and Mike steps down from the stage, a little wary seeing how upset he is.

"Okay, you need to calm down, Ross," Mike slowly walks toward him. "Just please… just… take a breath."

Ross continues to pace without a word for a good long moment. Mike doesn't move from where he stands. Just carefully, silently observing as the distress in his face slowly fades.

"I'm sorry," Ross finally breaks the pause, "I'm not mad. I just—I don't know what…"

His breath catches in his throat and he exhales sharply, as if to rid himself of it. His hand clutching on his chest.

"I don't know… how to feel about this."

Mike clenches his jaw, watching Ross grab a chair and sit on it while staring blankly into space, defeat all over his face. He walks back over to the piano bench, a moment too long after. His mind blank except for a few words. He stares at his knees—Ross still hasn't said anything—takes a breath, and gambles.

"I'm sorry about what I did-"

Ross shifts his eyes from the floor toward him, and he continues.

"I can't say I know exactly how you feel but I think I have some idea," Mike runs a hand over the side of his shoulder. "At the very least, she tried to keep you from knowing because… well… clearly, she didn't want to risk hurting you. That's saying something, I think-"

He waits for a reaction but Ross just turns away from him again.

"I don't think I'm the one you should be talking to about this."

Mike bows, expelling the pent up air in his lungs, finally. There are no more words in his head. Maybe not until Ross speaks, then he can decide if he has something more to say or not.

The chair creaks as its legs scratch back quickly over the hardwood floor. He doesn't look up. He just listens to Ross, as he stands up and puts the chair back up over the table. His shoes scrape against the floor as he walks away. Over to the door, Mike presumes, and the chimes clang lightly to confirm this. The hinges groan as it opens. Then, it closes again.

Mike coughs, takes a moment before looking up. He sees Ross grabbing a chair again and setting it down on the floor. This time, a little closer to the stage.

"I thought you—"

"You don't mind, do you? It's just… it's real quiet here. Could I just erm—" Ross coughs with a weak smile, "—hang back a little while?"

"Of course, yea. But er—I was…" Mike points to the piano, a little uncertain.

"No, please, just… I—I'd really like to hear you play."

"Okay," Mike lets out a relieved laugh, placing his fingers over the keys.

He pegs his eyes onto the piano, hands moving effortlessly as he plays from memory. Charles Mayer's _Le Regret._ It reproduces itself from his fingers without his own volition, but when the chair squeaks back against the floor, he doesn't look up. Nor does he look up when the hinges groan and the door opens and closes again. He only looks up after he finishes and just as he thought, Ross is gone.

Mike sighs and reaches into his pocket for his phone to call Phoebe. She should be done with the massage appointment by now. The screen says two new messages and he presses the button to read the one from Phoebe and the other one from

"Ross?" he whispers. Curious, and then pleased. He snickers, reading the one word message.

' _Thanks_ '

* * *

 **Author's Note:** _(cont'd)_ So, apparently, I come up with more depressing than FRIENDS-like material, it seems. And this story is largely taking on Mike's POV as I continue, if you've noticed. If you've managed to read through this chapter completely, thank you, and I'm sorry but I can't promise the next chapters won't be as gloomy. I rarely approve on explaining my own work, but I couldn't really think of any angle after this episode other than this so here's what (perhaps) my best effort looks like. Thank you so much for reading!


	7. After The One With Phoebe's Rats

**AFTER THE ONE WITH PHOEBE'S RATS**

'There's a shack somewhere – I think it's still there – probably about five hundred meters short of where the city stops and the river begins. It's a little dark now and maybe… I don't know… maybe it's going to be a little hard to get there – I hope not – anyway, Mike says it shouldn't be too much of a problem for you. You'll find your way. After all, we _did_ raise you somehow and you… well, you had a tough mom. Yea, Bob was tough. _Very_ tough – a fighter – I'm sure you guys will be like him – sorry – _her_ , too. Don't worry, you'll learn how to protect yourself soon enough… because you're strong… even though you really don't seem like it. You'll survive; it won't be too hard once you get there, believe me. Although erm it's gunna… it's gunna hurt a lot sometimes. Yea, it will hurt a _whole lot_ a lot of times and there'll be nights where you wish the moon will just take you and cradle you and place you in the sky to shine with the stars. Well, if it does that someday then good for you, but if it doesn't, you have to be ready. You have to shield yourself from all the pain that life will bring you and even though you might think you can do that on your own – trust me – you really won't be able to. There are just some… some wounds you won't be able to stitch on your own. So find the ones who can do that for you and once you find them, hold on to them real tight. There's not a lot of them out there but the few ones are _so_ worth keeping.'

Phoebe exhales sharply, shutting her eyes and mouth tight. Her knees quiver slightly under her weight so she sits back on her heels, shoes digging into the snow, as she tries hard not to make any more sudden movements. She bites her lip to stifle back a sob and hugs the box in her arms tightly enough before placing a hand on the lid.

Mike looks at her tenderly, no idea whatsoever on what's going on in her head, content enough that it makes sense to her and he's sure it makes sense to the creatures in the box as well. He trusts her enough to know.

A run-down station wagon speeds past them, a hairline away from crashing into Phoebe's cab but the driver maneuvers skillfully – or drunkenly – away, shouting obscenities. _What the fuck's this thing doing in the middle of the road?!_ The asphalt under the tires of the old yellow heirloom vibrates as his voice fades away; neither of them heard a thing. Phoebe's world right now is about the box and Mike's world right now is her.

The sun crawls down slowly in the horizon, the last of its rays spilling faint orange light on both their faces.

"You sure you don't want me to do this, Phoeb?" Mike asks beside her, crouching on the snow as well.

She smiles weakly and shakes her head. "No, I want to do it. I… I knew their mother longer. I should be the one to do it."

"Okay," Mike nods, draping an arm around her shoulder for support. "It's gunna be okay, babe."

"Yea, it is," Phoebe wipes a tear away with the back of her hand and sighs. "Everything's gunna be okay…"

She tilts the box closer to the ground and finally takes off the lid. The rat-babies scurry away immediately, fast as their tiny paws can carry them; squeaks waning as they scamper farther and farther from them, disappearing behind some of the tall grass and leaving behind only their paw prints in the snow. She counted them as they left, and she could almost swear there were six rat-babies more than there were originally in the box.

"Bye, you guys. Have a good life. Don't… get eaten by a snake or anything," Phoebe lays a hand on her chest to keep it from heaving so much as she looks on.

Mike kisses her head, rubbing a hand up and down her side as he keeps his arm around her shoulder.

"I hope they find the possum and the owl soon. It's getting dark," she whispers to nobody before looking up at Mike. Her eyes still welling up.

"You did the right thing, you set them free," he smiles at her reassuringly and takes her hand. "They'll figure things out, I'm sure they will."

Phoebe sniffs, shifting her eyes to the ground and fidgets restlessly. Mike takes this as a cue and stands up, taking her weight with him and helping her lift herself off the snow as well.

"What is it, Phoeb?"

"They… erm… none of them even—," she stammers before resigning herself to a sigh. She smiles weakly. "Nothing. It's just. It's nothing."

#

It took another thirty minutes for roadside assistance to get to where they were; another fifty minutes for the tow truck to dump them at some motel in Syracuse. A little too early to call it a night but a little too cold to find anywhere else to stay.

"It's just a problem with the car battery and other stuff. Mechanic says it should be good for pickup in the morning. Just don't go there to pick it up by nine. Maybe by four pm or sometime around that, he told me," the tow truck driver slurred. The gum in his mouth sliding from one cheek pocket to the other. "Should be good by then."

He jumped back into his truck and drove, smoke and wet snow flying into Mike and Phoebe's faces as he sped away.

She is still upset when Mike emerges from the shower. Just quietly sitting at the bottom of the bed in the bathrobe – the only one the motel can afford to give them – hair still dripping, staring into space. He turns his boxers inside out and puts them on, rubbing his hair with the towel before tossing it aside. He grabs the shirt he was wearing under his sweater and puts it on, too, before walking over to the bed. A wave of fatigue hits him right as he sits on the edge. An entire day's worth of driving upstate finally taking its toll, but he lifts both his legs up and slides to the bottom until he's close enough to catch her back onto his chest. Resolving not to fall asleep until he's sure she's okay, his arms envelope her body and he lets his legs dangle alongside each of hers; he calms down a bit when he feels her breathing against him.

"I can keep you warm like this if you want me to," Mike murmurs into her shoulder. "Just say it and I'll stay wrapped around you like this all night."

Phoebe laughs weakly, burying herself even closer to his chest.

"Mmm… okay," she purrs, before sighing. "Ugh. Goodbyes are always _so_ draining."

"You're still sad about the rat-babies?"

She shakes her head on his shoulder. "No, not—not sad. I'm not sad. I mean… I don't think I am," her voice trails off and she pauses. Mike's weighing heavily against her and she realises he's falling asleep.

"Mike?"

"Yea?" he jolts awake.

"You're falling asleep," she giggles. "Come on."

Phoebe gets up and walks over to her side while Mike drags himself to the top of the bed, pulling Phoebe gently by the hand and covering the two of them with the comforter before wrapping himself around her again. She laughs.

"You're really gunna wrap yourself around me like this all night?"

"Yea, I'm gunna… I'm gunna stay like this… around you," Mike mumbles, not opening his eyes. "I'll stay like this… I'll… stay…"

He starts to doze off and Phoebe stares at him wordless for a while. Repeating his words in her head. _Stay._

"Mike?" she turns toward him three hours later. His hold around her, loosened, but he's still holding her.

"Mike?"

No answer.

"When you… when you say goodbye to someone, do you… do you look back at them after you've said it?"

Suddenly, familiar faces begin parading one by one in her head. Her mom, her stepdad, Ursula, her grandma. Faces she's never forgotten. Albino Bob, Duncan, David. Faces she still thinks about sometimes. The triplets, Cindy, the rat-babies. Faces who might not remember hers anymore.

"None of them ever looked back at me, you know," she sighs heavily. "No one's ever looked back at me after they've said it."

Her mind drifts off to David and how he didn't take his eyes off her until the cab turned down the corner the last time he said goodbye. Yea, he didn't take his eyes off her. But he always says goodbye.

"How… will you say it to me, Mike?"

No answer.

She smiles a little and turns away from him again, snuggling into his chest. Suddenly happy she doesn't get the answer to that question tonight.


	8. After The One Where Monica Sings

**AFTER THE ONE WHERE MONICA SINGS**

There's a good crowd at the hall tonight, that much Phoebe can tell. Standing behind the black handrails along the mezzanine of the old-apartment-turned-quasi-concert-pub at Soho, she has the best view in the completely packed room. The brick walls are lined by brooding city natives and clueless tourists fumbling through their guidebooks in the dark. Humidity, though uncomfortably thick, seems otherwise unnoticed by lovers with their limbs entangled around each other, communing with strangers of the same kind, and partaking in the same stale air for some electricity. Every single body in sight, swaying to the rhythm of heartbeats fueled by liquor and the man onstage – streaked in the grayish blue glow of the spotlight atop him, catharsis and sweat drawn all over his face. His fingers glide masterfully over the Baldwin and she sees the keys dance under his touch, like she always tells him.

Phoebe smiles, a flutter in her stomach and her chest heaving from deep breaths and pride. Mike – her Mike – lost in his element, is just so-

"Ugh—oh, isn't he just so _gorgeous_?" she exhales softly, awestruck. A low growl escapes from her throat and Mike – she's not sure if he heard – turns his head up toward her and winks.

Beside her, Chandler and Monica are too busy wrapped around each other, swaying along, and whispering whatever things are making them giggle at the moment to even hear. Phoebe watches for a second as Monica pulls Chandler's arms around her tighter, their fingers interlaced, and snuggles back against his chest even closer, as though she wants to erase any measure of space between the two of them. Chandler kisses her hair in response, and Phoebe suddenly feels a slight hint of envy pricking at her from inside, seeing how lost her friends are in each other.

"Are you guys having fun?" Phoebe asks, an attempt to distract herself.

The two turn toward her, smiling, and Monica nods.

"Yea, looks like we are. Right, honey?" she looks up at her husband.

"Mmm. Uh-huh. Great place, Phoebs. Thanks for taking us here. Mike's friend really set up a good one."

Chandler catches a drag from some guy walking past and Monica elbows him lightly in the ribs.

"Ow, hey!"

"Stop smoking someone else's cigarettes-"

He opens his mouth to retort but melts under Monica's glare, smirking with a shrug.

"Yes, dear."

Phoebe giggles, amused at how Monica shut down Chandler's joke reflex without even saying a word. Sometimes, she wonders how the two of them can stand each other's quirks all the time, but watching them handle it always ends up making sense.

She turns to look at Mike with a thoughtful pause. He's starting to play another cover, and she feels herself begin to float, mind drifting to last weekend as she hears his voice through the loudspeakers.

#

 _"Mmm… that sounds sexy. Do you have the silky thing on over it, the one that I like_?"

" _Uh-huh. I put it on 'cause I know it's your favorite,_ " _she replied, trying to sound more provocative as she walked over to his dresser. She pulled out his Yale t-shirt from one of the drawers and, with the phone cradled between her head and her shoulder, she put it on and grabbed the almost empty bottle of his cologne from the nightstand._

 _"Ugh, I really wish you were here to see me wearing it though._ "

 _She spritzed the t-shirt sparingly and stood in front of the mirror – wearing just his t-shirt and her underwear, and lying to him about being in lingerie over the phone._

" _I'm pretty sure I'd be doing a lot more than just watching you wear it if I were there, Phoeb._ "

 _He laughed and she curled up on the bed at the sound of it, suddenly feeling weak. She pulled the comforter over her head so she was completely hidden under the covers and stretched the hem of the t-shirt over her knees; inhaling the scent of his cologne on the fabric before finally answering._

" _When are you coming home?_ "

" _Soon... Very soon, babe_."

" _I miss you. Your bed's never warm enough._ "

" _Yea, I know. I've really missed you, too,_ " _he sighed. "This is the last time I'm going away this long, I promise. I've missed you so much, I just couldn't bear it anymore._ "

 _She furrowed her eyebrows, a little confused at his words._ " _Couldn't?_ "

 _A long pause._

" _Mike?_ "

 _The edge of the bed dropped from the sudden extra weight. Hurriedly, she leaped out of the covers to see him sitting there, smiling, cellphone in hand._

" _Surprise…"_

#

"I'm gunna get a beer, I'm getting a little thirsty. Want me to get you a drink or something, honey?"

"Yea, I'll have a beer too. But get back soon. And stop inhaling all this smoke in the air."

"Like I have a choice. Phoebs, you want anything?"

"Phoebs?"

The nudge on her arm throws her out of her thoughts and she sinks back into her body.

"Phoebe, sweetie, are you okay?" Monica asks, slightly worried.

Phoebe stares back for a moment before shaking out of it. "Wha—oh yea! Yea, I'm fine."

"Okay…? Well, I'm going to get us some beers downstairs. D'you want anything or…?"

"Huh? Erm—yea, sure. I'll just have one too. Thanks!" she smiles warmly.

"Alright then. Be right back," Chandler swipes a kiss across Monica's neck before turning away. She waves him off with a laugh.

"Ugh, you guys are _so_ married," Phoebe starts, turning toward Monica as soon as he disappears down the stairs.

"I know," the brunette gushes, "He's just the sweetest, isn't he?"

"Well, with you, yea… and also, that was really great what he did for you tonight at the piano bar—

"By the way, thanks for telling me about that earlier," Monica quips sarcastically, scowling at Phoebe.

"I—I'm sorry about that, really! You were just having so much fun… and everyone else was, too! I'm sorry but I can't keep you from sharing happiness, you know-"

Monica shakes her head with a chuckle.

They both turn their attention to Mike below.

"Hey, Mon, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, what's up?"

She bites her lip, a little hesitant, eyes darting over the crowd below before she speaks.

"About Chandler—"

Monica cocks an eyebrow.

"Did you erm… did you know right away that he was… you know, like… the one?"

The brunette looks at her, a little taken aback at first, and then thoughtfully.

"Oh… erm—well, I guess. I mean, I never really thought about it…"

"But, so when you guys were sleeping around with each other – you know, behind our backs and all–"

Monica rolls her eyes with a smirk.

"-Erm, did you already know then?"

"Huh… I don't know," Monica pauses. "I don't know. I don't think I knew _right away_ , I mean, there was still that whole thing with Richard but I… I guess I just always knew that with Chandler, it always… felt right, you know? I didn't know right away if he was the one but I just… I just knew he was the one it always felt _right_ with."

"Uh-huh," Phoebe nods, thoughtfully, "Right, okay, yea."

"Why do you ask?"

"Nothing," she shrugs.

Monica's eyes shift downstairs to the stage and return to Phoebe.

"Is it about you and Mike? Is everything okay with you guys?"

"Huh? Oh yea! No, we're doing great."

Monica continues staring at her; Phoebe pretends not to notice but can't help it.

"St—don't- stop staring at me like that!"

"Well, spill!"

"We're fine, Mon, there's nothing-"

Monica raises an eyebrow.

"Alright, fine! I just… I think… I'm pretty sure Mike's already the one, okay?"

"Oh my g—really?" Monica squeals excitedly.

"Yes! Yea, and I think I wanna go to the next level in this relationship, but I can't… I just… I have no idea what to do about this."

Phoebe looks at her boyfriend, wringing his heart out to his own arrangement of 'The Flame.' She tucks her chin in her palm and sighs.

#

 _"No, you have to—you have to put your fingers like this-," he picked her hands up and positioned them gently over the keys, "—then, you just press repeatedly like this, watch…"_

 _He played the chord for her and she mimicked the sequence closely._

 _"See, not bad, right? You're pretty good at this."_

 _"Uh-huh, I didn't know this was so easy," she giggled._

 _He smiled back at her before beginning to freestyle, his ear searching for the right notes to complement the recurrent sound._

 _"What are you doing?" she asked, curious as she watched his hands float over the piano._

 _"Writing. Just keep playing that, you're doing great."_

 _He stopped abruptly, setting his hands down on his lap with a sigh._

 _"What—what's wrong?" she furrowed her eyebrows, a little worried, but didn't stop playing._

 _"Nothing—"_

 _"Why did you stop?"_

 _He stared at her thoughtfully for a good moment before kissing her deeply, tenderly. Her hands, lifting from the keys, moved to cup his cheek._

 _"I love you," he whispered as they broke away._

 _She beamed in reply. "I love you, too."_

 _"Can you do something for me?"_

 _"Sure, okay—"_

 _"Can you play? Just play anything you want."_

 _She stared at him, questioningly, but he assured her and she obliged. Starting out a little shyly, she gradually lost herself playing random notes on the piano, complimenting herself from time to time, and for a whole fifteen minutes, produced whatever sound would come out from whichever key she pressed on._

 _And the entire time he sat beside her, he just listened._

#

"Here we go," Chandler appears behind them, two Coronas in his right hand, raising them up for the taking.

Neither of the two notice him.

"What do you mean you have no idea? You must have at least some sort of expectation, right?" Monica probes.

"I'm… I'm not sure. I don't know. He's been through such a tough divorce. It's just—I don't want to force him into anything," Phoebe stammers back.

"It wouldn't be forcing it, you would just be letting him know so he can do something about it."

Chandler takes a swig and inserts himself between the two women, turning his gaze from Phoebe to his wife.

"So, what are we talking about now?" He goes unheard.

"Well, what if he doesn't want to do anything about it?"

"Then, at least you'd know—"

"I don't think I want to know."

"Know what?" Chandler tries again.

"Honey, it's going to be fine," Monica says, reaching out to hold Phoebe's hands, her husband between the two of them. "Look, he gave you his key first, right? You told us he said I-love-you first. You guys have come a pretty long way. So, if you want to go the next level, then tell him."

Chandler grimaces in discomfort at the oddness of his position.

"Alright, okay… I'll think about that."

"Yea, _you should_. Tell him… if—if you want to move in with him already, tell him—"

"I do miss him a lot when he's gone—" Phoebe sighs, letting go of Monica's hands and shifting her attention back to Mike.

Chandler finally breathes. "Hi, in case you forgot, I'm right here," he mumbles.

"I guess you're right…" Phoebe whispers to nobody.

Monica smiles comfortingly at her friend. She runs a hand down Phoebe's back very lightly to soothe her.

"Phoebs, trust me, we both know it's really great when it's the guy who takes the initiative, but you have to let them know what's really on your mind sometimes. And I mean, who knows?"

She turns to look at her husband, who is now gulping on his beer, resigned to being ignored, and beams tenderly at him. Chandler gazes at her, awkwardly confused at first, before grinning back as though he's hearing what she's saying.

"He can end up completely surprising you."

Applause suddenly reverberates in the room, the crowd cheering as Mike mumbles thanks into the microphone after finishing the Cheap Trick cover. Phoebe feels her heart swell as he raises his head to her, a meaningful look in his eyes. Between the blue gray streak of the spotlight, like he's sharing something in silent code with her.

"Okay, this next song, I'm gunna play is my last one tonight," Mike says into the microphone, assuming his seat on the piano once more. "It's an original so I hope no one here has heard it before," he laughs sheepishly. "Well, except for one person at least. I've been wanting to write her a song since the first time I played for her on an inexistent piano, but I just… I couldn't come up with the perfect melody-"

His fingers start to glide over the keys.

"—Luckily, she did that herself. I just helped out by coming up with some lyrics to go with it," he gives a slight wave to her on the mezzanine. "I really hope she likes what we both came up with."

The soft intro comes in and Phoebe feels chills crawl through her spine – a sweet sort of shock taking over her body. She recognised the notes – her random notes from when he asked her to play him whatever – and he is making them make sense. He has made her music his own, and it sounds gorgeous.

Mike hums lowly into the microphone; the corners of Phoebe's mouth, slightly agape, pull back into a smile as she stares down at him. Their gaze, never lifting from each other, as the song carries on.

 _Angel eyes_

 _All this time, never knew you were right here…_


	9. After The One With the Breakup

**Author's Note:** Short background on development, this chapter took me so many drafts until I finally came up with this one and even I am confused by it actually. How weird is it that I am writing fanfiction between 2AM and 4AM intervals? Heavens, I hope this makes sense at the very least. To clue you in, I like reverting between tenses - it was my college writing go-to (amateur, I know). I hope the difference would be a lot more apparent though, because that's important. Also, I changed the episode's title (TOW the Boob Job). Just cause it doesn't seem fitting. Hope it won't be too much to ask for a read and review :)

* * *

 **AFTER THE ONE WITH THE BREAK-UP**

Senseless. That was probably the only term for it. Or off the top of his head, for that matter, no other word could describe it; the blood that had drained from his fingertips and the hollow feeling in his stomach – he scanned his mind for some sort of adjective to translate. There was none.

Mike's grip tightened around the key in his hand, its uneven edges digging into the crosshatches on his palm in an odd fit, as though it might as well slice through the skin. He was practically numb all over, a weightless kind of draft circling in his chest where his lungs should probably be.

Standing in front of her house, he felt sweat dripping from his temples, reckoned he didn't know what exactly he was doing there or how he even got there in the first place. The door swung open before he could wonder why he was raising his hand to ring the doorbell, and she came out. The sight of her, bringing back a torrent of confused emotions. Her hair, just as wild as he first saw it – fiery red and unruly curls sticking out in all places, but her fleshy face was even rosier than he last remembered.

The petite woman stared at him indifferently, clutching at her robe which she wrapped tighter around herself.

"What do you want, Mike? Do you know it now? What do you want?"

#

 _I want Mike. Just him. No one else._

Phoebe's eyes are shut tight but it really just isn't coming to her. Sleep. Normally, if she let herself get to sleep quickly enough and long enough after stuff like this happened, then she could trick herself into believing none of it ever really did. She would go back to being as okay as she was at the last best moment in her life, it always worked for her, and ex-boyfriends would be forgotten as soon as the next best guy to sleep with comes along.

But even the thought of that doesn't help now. It's like a ton of bricks weighing down on her and her tears just wouldn't stop. It's always the first night that's the hardest, but tonight feels even worse.

Monica stirs beside her, hand sliding away from where it rested on her back. The bed creaks softly as the brunette shifts positions, turning toward Rachel who is lying still on her back and hogging the blankets. The two girls huddle, still fast asleep, pretty much taking the entire comforter away to wrap just themselves in it.

Phoebe sighs, teeth slightly chattering from the cold, and finally decides to give up. The springs creak beneath her as she moves to sit up on the bed, and she thinks maybe she'd just buy a new mattress tonight instead. As if on purpose, her eyes draw her attention to the digital clock on the nightstand.

'3:30?' she thinks, 'how can it be 3:30 already?'

Chandler and Joey's chorus of snores answer her, the two tucked under a blanket each on the carpet. That their backs would probably hurt real badly in the morning doesn't seem to bother them now, and it wouldn't until either of them wakes up, but Ross had called dibs on the armchair next to the bed and is now…

'Gone?' she thinks, scanning the dimly lit room quietly. 'Oh, he must have left—"

"Hey, Phoebs," a whisper suddenly calls out from the doorway.

She raises her head to see Ross walking into the room, a glass of water in his hand.

"What are you doing up?"

Phoebe feels herself exhale deeply, relieved and a little surprised he is still there. All five of them decided to stay the night – Monica and Rachel's idea – since they didn't want to leave her alone and upset. Ross was the only one who seemed uncertain, but was ultimately swayed by Chandler and Joey.

She smiles weakly at him and whispers, "I thought you left-"

"No, of course not. Why would I do that?"

He sits on the armchair and proffers the glass in his hand. "You want some water?"

Phoebe shakes her head. "No, I'm good. Thanks."

"'kay…" Ross replies, downing half the glass and setting it on the nightstand. "-'s just my throat got a little dry," he explains.

She doesn't answer him, just stares into space. Save for Chandler and Joey's snores, the silence floats between them for a good long while until she feels him take her hand.

"Listen, Phoebs," he starts, a little sheepishly, "I know this wouldn't really seem like much coming from me. I mean, I know you're hurting right now but I promise you, this is all gunna be worth something someday."

Phoebe holds his gaze, dark brown eyes trying so much to assure her of his words.

"What do you mean?"

Ross tilts his head, patting her hand gently. "Just that at least now, you're finally aware of what you really want from a relationship, right?"

Phoebe can feel herself fighting his attempt.

"I mean, I can't say much about marriage. What would I know, I got divorced three times. Carol's a lesbian, Emily wasn't Rachel, Rachel was…" he trails off.

"Maybe, I don't want to get married," she whispers weakly.

"—she was too drunk to even remember any of it and… what?" Ross pauses, finally.

"Maybe I don't want to get married."

"What do you mean?"

Phoebe casts her eyes to the floor, biting her lip to stifle back tears.

"But… but what about what you said at the coffee shop? The dress, and the kids, _and the Volvo_?" Ross widens his eyes, as though he's trying to convince her. "You have a life planned out, Phoebs, and it's wonderful."

The springs creak as Rachel and Monica both stir. Chandler and Joey's snoring momentarily breaks into silence, before starting up again. Phoebe sighs, gets up and walks out of her bedroom, Ross following after her.

"Phoebe—"

"I said that I saw myself married to Mike. Not to anyone else. Well, what's the point now that I broke up with him?"

She crashes on the couch, hugging her knees to her chest. "I've been married but… I've never dreamed of marrying anyone before Mike."

Ross plops down on the cushions beside her. "Really? Not even David?"

Phoebe sighs, shaking her head.

"No. He never stayed long enough for me to get to sleep."

Ross drapes an arm around her, planting a kiss on her head as she rests it on his shoulder. Her tears, forming small puddles that soak into his sweater. They stay that way until the quiet becomes more comfortable than saying anything else, but he hesitantly decides to break it when his tear-soaked sweater makes it clear she hasn't stopped crying.

"Phoebs?," he pauses for a moment, just to make sure he's ready for her answer.

"Will it make you feel a bit better if you dream out loud?"

#

 _This_ is _my dream, to spend my life with the woman I love forever._

'Wildflowers,' Mike smiled, staring at the clusters of florets lining the red aisle. Behind the sliding glass door that divided the back entrance from the main hall, he took in everything—the colours, the wind, the band, the sun slowly breaking into pale orange beams, filtering through the glass-paned ceiling, and his own faint reflection staring back at him. Sharp suit with a single wild rose on his lapel and his tousled brown hair, messed up just like she always said she liked. He held his breath and hoped everything would be perfect enough. She didn't deserve anything less.

Mike tucked his fingers into his fists and let out a breath, excitement and nerves alternately coursing in his veins. _I'm getting married today_.

"Are you sure?"

He turned around behind him and there she stood again. Wild red hair and her steel blue eyes fixed on his face, indifferent and yet she was mocking him. He could almost swear she was.

"You don't seem any surer about this than you were the last time you walked down the aisle."

Her voice came out like ice against his skin, and he shivered at the contact.

 _I love her. I love Phoebe, and she loves me. Much more than you ever did._ If _you ever did._

Mike resisted when she walked closer to him, but somehow he seemed planted in place. She smirked when she rested her cheek against his, and he closed his eyes as the smell of her skin wafted back into his senses, awakening forgotten memories. His heart thumped steadily in his chest.

"I _did_ love you, Mike. Maybe not enough, or even as much. But I did love you. And I hurt you," she snickered in his ear, "People who love each other deeply, hurt each other even more. What makes you think it won't happen again with her?"

He sucked in a breath, gritting his teeth and grabbing her by the shoulders to push himself away.

 _She isn't_ you. _Phoebe can't hurt me any worse than you did. Ever._

"Maybe-," she simpered, before spinning him around, "-but are you sure you can say the same for yourself?"

She clamped her hand over his mouth and he struggled to pry her fingers off. He could feel himself trying to wriggle free but her force was too strong. He cast his eyes on his surroundings as they scuffled, and he suddenly found himself at the top end of the aisle in front of an entire crowd of strangers, all eyes glaring at him, including two warm green ones that were now welling up with tears. _Phoebe_ , dressed in a long satin wedding gown. She looked like everything he ever dreamed, but everything felt like it was turning into a nightmare.

"I am very sorry, I don't think we heard quite correctly," the minister beside him coughed nervously, oblivious to the ongoing scuffle. Mike tried to reach out and grab his arm for help, but for some reason, he couldn't. Across him, Phoebe's face was contorted in confusion, desperation, and embarrassment.

"Do you, Michael, accept Phoebe Buffay, to love and to cherish until death do you part?"

 _I do. I do._

"Are you sure, Mike?" she sneered in his ear.

 _I do._

Everyone stared at him, waiting. But he couldn't answer.

"Are you sure?"

#

"Maybe… I don't know…" Phoebe pauses with a yawn, "…maybe we can have kids either way. He told me he'd like to have kids."

She raises her legs on the couch, curling into fetal position as Ross pulls the quilt off to cover her with it.

The sky should have gotten much darker outside now that they're minutes to dawn. It's 4:45AM, though the haze of lights afloat with the smog would keep the city bright until the sun finally rises – the pace of New York running along every ticking clock.

"Maybe, even if we just live together, we can still do what married couples do, right?"

Phoebe looks at Ross hopefully, waiting for a reply as he settles into the chair right by her.

He yawns, bleary-eyed but surprisingly still patient, and places his hand on the couch's armrest.

"All of it, but without the commitment, I guess," his eyelids flutter before closing completely, and he drifts away in light slumber.

She bites her lip.

"I want the commitment," Ross whispers in stupor, "I like commitment…"

Phoebe smiles bitterly at the sleeping figure beside her, and suddenly feels her eyelids become heavy. Groggily, she holds onto Ross's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze of appreciation, before she nods off.

#

A couple of blocks down, Mike jolts awake. His own hand clamped over his mouth.


	10. After The One With the Memorial Service

**AFTER THE ONE WITH THE MEMORIAL SERVICE**

How did it feel, he thought, should he ask himself? Dim lights and the faint smell of vanilla from the glittering tea lights on the table, and the sight of her warm green eyes staring at him. Brighter than the stars outside the window of the restaurant. _How did it feel?_

Well, it felt pretty much the way water felt on skin – wet. Except it also felt like a hundred thousand eyes taking sweet liberty absorbing the sight of him, dripping in his seat.

Mike takes a moment, wiping himself with the table napkin. He would've preferred to see a smile on her face, instead of the reluctance drawn all over it right now. The tongues of flame flickering over the candles are gone, went out as soon as she had emptied the contents of her glass on his head, leaving misshapen blobs of wax on the table. Beside them, the waiter is frozen in place with their entrées and his mouth agape.

" _Now_ , we're over!" Phoebe says. The chair creaks and scratches against the hardwood floor when she stands up, but even that isn't loud enough to drown the sound of hushed voices about them. Without another look back, she grabs her purse, shoves the waiter out of her way, and heads for the door.

In the back alley eight minutes later, he finds her rubbing her hands near a dumpster and he unbundles the honey-coloured parka in his hands, walking toward her with a slight chuckle.

"You forgot your coat," Mike says, wrapping her in it and pulling her into an embrace. "Well, that was something else…"

"I'm sorry! Ugh… I'm _so_ sorry," Phoebe replies, her teeth chattering. "That made me feel so bad-"

"No, no, that was good. It really… I felt it—"

"Did you? G-, I don't want to end it that way! I was like the bitterest girlfriend ever!"

"Nah," he cups her cheek, "I'm sure those people have seen worse."

"Everyone was looking at us, huh?"

Mike raises his eyebrows and takes a second before nodding.

"Ugh. And did I… did I get you all wet?"

"Just a little bit-"

"Oh, no," Phoebe presses herself closer to him, rubbing her hands up and down his arms. "Aren't you gunna be cold?"

"No," he shakes his head. "I just need a little… maybe a little body heat."

He smirks coyly, drawing her in for a kiss, but she pulls away before he can deepen the contact.

"Erm… what time is it?"

Mike sulks, holds his disappointment back with a shrug. "I'm not sure."

Phoebe takes his forearm, turning his wrist over so she can look at his watch.

"It's 8:46," her eyes dart around the mostly empty street as if she's searching for something. "'Kay, erm, so… so where do you want to break up next?"

He hears the question but the sneeze building up in his nose gives way before he can answer. Mike cups his hands over his mouth, shakes his head one or two times as chills creep up his spine and he shivers. The thought of their two naked bodies lying in bed with a nice thick blanket would be most ideal, but this is his idea and now, he wants to kick himself in the head for it.

"Somewhere warm," he suggests, a tiny ray of hope that she might be thinking the same thing as he is. "Let's do it somewhere warm."

#

The room is nice. The room is toasty. The room is packed with sixty drunken patrons who have successfully meandered their way to "Tuesday Open Mic Night" at the piano bar. But even now that he's sitting on his throne behind the ivories with a dry shirt on – they made a quick stop at his apartment – this really isn't exactly the room he wants to be in tonight.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Mike hears his voice reverberate from the microphone, "Phoebe Buffay!"

Cue drunken applause while she takes the steps up to the elevated platform. The stagehand passes her the spare guitar she borrowed from the storage basement.

"Erm…Hi, I'm Phoebe. Phoebe Buffay," she glances toward him. "I don't have my guitar tonight so I borrowed this used one they have."

She smiles shyly in his direction and confusion literally rushes through his veins. _Why do I have to do this?_

"So I'm… I'm sorry if the guitar's a little out of tune," Phoebe runs her hand over the strings. She sings a note before interrupting herself immediately. "Also, I just wrote this song a couple minutes ago so… erm… okay-"

More drunken applause. She giggles and he forces a smile on his lips, a slight tremble escaping from his fingers. _Why do we have to do this?_

" _I met him on a double date_

 _With Mary Ellen and Joey_

 _He had nice eyes, a sexy smile_

 _Although he was a bit doughy_ —"

There should be no question about it, he should have just left it the way that they did three days ago. He never should have picked up the phone this afternoon, never should have hung up and sprinted his way to her apartment the moment she said she wanted to see him, never should have kissed her, never should have asked for just one more night. _Because I don't want one more night_ , his chest heaves, _I want to go home and be with you every night_.

" _He doesn't like to get haircuts_

 _And he killed my pet rat_

 _Said he loves me, and I know it's true_

 _But this isn't gunna work out…_ "

#

"I do love you!" Mike screams, and knocks back the entire mug of beer almost the size of his head. The jigger he'd dropped in earlier clinks against his teeth. _G-, that was strong_! He can feel the wash of beer and whiskey in his mouth. "I want to live with you because I love you! So much! Why can't that be enough?!"

"What?!" Phoebe screams back, before finishing her drink. "Oh my g-, my head is spinning," she turns to the bartender. "This isn't tequila! What is in this thing?!"

He barely hears her voice over the booming speakers and he is close to seeing a fifth Phoebe-replica come out from behind her. Actually, the whole crowd at the club seems to have multiplied in the last hour – that much he knows.

"I d-don't…" he slurs, "I don't want us to end!"

The strobe lights dance around the five Phoebe's in front of him, the coloured beams breaking and diffusing into a radiant glow. He smiles at her, or at least he thinks he does. _Let's just get back together_ , he wants to say; _I know I said I wouldn't ask anymore but I love you. Forget about marriage and let's just get back together_ , but he can't even open properly open his mouth when he feels like seconds away from a cardiac arrest.

"But I want to get married someday and you don't! We already know that!"

 _Was I talking out loud?_ The next song crossfades into the other and the savage mob collected in the club jumps and cheers and doesn't stop. His head is about ready to split.

"Why are you being so difficult about this?!"

"What?! I—I'm not being-"

"You know why I don't want to marry you?! I'll tell you! You want to know why?!" he screams at her, all the blood draining from his veins.

"I don't want to marry you because I don't want you to turn into the _bitch_ who says she loves me today then sleeps with another guy tomorrow! I don't want to marry you because I don't want to be dragged _back and forth_ to marriage counselling, and have some _pompous_ , _overpaid_ IDIOT tell me that I'm _working_ too much or I'm _not_ paying any attention or that _suddenly_ , I've become _sexually unavailable_ when _I_ know and _you_ know and that _stupid Colonel Sanders look-a-like knows_ that _none_ of those things are true! I don't want to look at you after three years, five years, _nine_ years and not feel anything! _That's_ why I don't want to marry you!"

"I am not your ex-wife," she hisses under her breath, but he hears every word perfectly.

"I didn't think I'd ever refer to her as my ex-wife either…"

He sees all five Phoebe's glaring at him before grabbing five bartenders behind the counter and planting a deep kiss right on their lips, holding onto them for a good ten seconds before shoving them back.

"There. Does that make it easier?"

#

He might have already vomited his intestines out but his head is pounding way too much for him to even care. He tilts his head back, wiping his mouth carelessly with his coat sleeve, eyes still closed, and takes in a sharp breath.

"Ugh," Mike groans, before chucking his head back over the sink again. A fresh jet of bile surging from his stomach to his throat.

The bathroom door opens unexpectedly and he sees her go in through clouded, blurry eyes; blonde hair swaying as she walks.

"Baby, please, I'm sorry-," he slurs, stumbling his way toward her. "I'm sorry. I never should have said that."

He blinks once, twice, but the white mist in his eyes just wouldn't go away. He can barely see her face.

"I was drunk, I didn't know what I was saying…"

"Well, you're… still drunk now?" she answers, and Mike wonders if his ears had been ringing all night because her voice seems to have changed.

"I know and I'm—" he runs his fingers through her hair, choking. " _I'm sorry_. I can't… I can't lose you. You're the love of my life, Phoebe…"

Mike cups his hands on her cheeks, pulling her in slowly for a kiss.

"Oh, no, my name's not Phoebe. It's-"

He ends up rushing to the nearest toilet stall instead.

"—Precious…"

He's hurling his guts out too loudly to even hear.

A while later, he finds himself waking up on a subway bench, probably after that. He can't remember clearly. The long hand on the clock hanging over the platform ticks and moves a space after 03:55. The train going between Queens and Manhattan would get there in about three minutes. He sits up slowly, takes his phone out from his jeans pocket. It's the incessant vibrating that woke him up in the first place.

 _Seventeen missed calls_ , Mike reads, _seventeen missed calls from Phoebe_.

He sighs, thumb hovering over the call button, but it vibrates again before he can even make a decision.

"Mike?" her voice sounds clearly upset.

"Phoeb—" he exhales her name. "Hey…"

"Oh my g-, where the hell are you?! You weren't picking up your phone! I'm worried sick!"

"I'm fine, babe, I just—" he catches his face in his hands, too weak to think of a lame excuse. "I'm fine."

Silence on the other end. The train arrives and he watches as people get on and off, his mind completely empty.

"I'm sorry I left you… back at the club…" Phoebe says finally, and he can tell she paused so he wouldn't hear her voice break.

"It's okay…" Mike replies softly.

"I just… I thought tonight, we could… plan a better… a more thought-out breakup than… than what we had…"

"I know. I thought so, too. It was a dumb idea…"

A beat.

"Mike, I don't want us to end this way."

He wells up at the sound of her voice, wishing the damn clock overhead would stop ticking. He is running out of time.

"I don't want us to end…" he pulls the phone away before the sobs can clog his throat, and coughs it out. "I don't want us to end this way either."

The people clear out from the platform. The train's pale yellow headlights pierce into the dark emptiness ahead. The next one is coming in five minutes, he figures. Before him, everybody else wanders into different directions. _Where are you going_ , his mind asks no one, _where should you be going?_

"My couch is still there, right?" Mike whispers into the phone.

The train doors shut.

"Yea…"

The tracks rattle under its weight as it prepares to leave.

"Do you think maybe…I could…could I…spend the rest of the night at our place—"

A quick, whooshing sound before the train plunges and disappears into the black, barren void.

"—just this once?"

#

Phoebe clasps Mike's hands, fitting her fingers between his, light calluses scratching the surface of her skin. The length of her body curls just slightly inwards and Mike wraps himself around her even closer, his chest spooning her back. The discarded blankets lie in a heap on the floor. They're naked but they're warm enough, so why bother?

Outside the window, the night sky begins to give way to streaks of mauve and pink and orange. On the nightstand, the digital clock is flashing five thirty-nine. It's not just day that's breaking right now though, Phoebe thinks, chest rising as her lungs fill with air. _Definitely not just day that's breaking._

"I have to go," Mike says, not moving a muscle.

"Yea, you should…" she replies weakly, "…you should go."

They lay in silence for a few more minutes, his embrace not loosening in the slightest. Maybe, he's memorising the feeling of having her in his arms. Maybe, he's still just really sleepy. But whatever is going on, it has to stop because none of it is making anything easier.

" _You said this can't be harder and I thought so, too, but I don't think either one of us is right_ …"

She whispers almost inaudibly before she shifts her entire body and turns toward him.

"I don't think this made it easier."

Mike brushes back a lock of her hair from her face with his fingers. "I know."

He moves to stand up, limbs untangling from hers, and Phoebe feels shivers envelope her body in an instant. She sits up on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest as she watches him grab his clothes from the floor and put them on. Boxers then jeans then his t-shirt, button-down, and coat – why couldn't he have been wearing more than five items of clothing?

She takes the blankets from the floor, draping it around herself, and drags her body to the edge of the bed next to where he is sitting.

"I'll call the U-Haul later," Mike says, putting his other sock on and reaching for his shoes. "I'll have my stuff picked up today so you wouldn't have to deal with all these boxes."

"No, you don't have to rush it. It's okay. I don't... I don't mind it."

Phoebe smiles weakly and he returns the expression right back, taking both of her hands in his. His shoes lying still on the floor, forgotten.

"You know, if I... if I could change the way I feel about everything else just to stay with you, I would. I wish I can tell you that I've changed my mind but... I would rather leave and lose you now, than string you along with a lie..."

He runs his thumb across her jawline, the rest of his hand settling lightly on her neck.

"I would think of a thousand and one ways to break up with you if that meant last night would never end."

His lips brush gently against hers at first, the way he always does it for her, then get deeper and deeper until

"I can't take this," Phoebe stands up.

Mike exhales a sigh of disappointment, bowing in defeat, until he notices the room is getting darker once again.

"What are you doing?" he asks, watching her draw all the curtains down and closing all the blinds, shutting out any trace of the impending sunlight.

Phoebe turns the digital clock off, then stretches her hand toward him. "Give me your watch," she says and Mike obliges.

"It's not the morning until I've woken up, and I haven't even slept yet…" she pulls the crown and the time hands immediately stop ticking.

Mike beams wide, his heart beating steadily as he finally understands. Quickly, he kicks his socks off and strips down to his t-shirt and underwear. He waits for her to climb back into bed and clings to her as she settles in, helping her spread the blankets wide enough to cover both of their bodies. He feels her fingers find their way to his chest and stay there, and he's never felt more content and anxious in his life. Tonight will end, he thinks, but she hasn't ended it yet.

He holds onto her tighter. _This hasn't ended yet._


	11. Before, The One In, After Barbados

**Author's Note:** (Three perspectives; brackets in place of strikethroughs for implied errors) Give it a chance.

* * *

 **BEFORE, THE ONE IN, AFTER BARBADOS**

It's just that feeling that swells up inside her everytime she catches that look in David's eyes. The way his pupils dilate and focus and just… melt her in the intensity of his gaze. He's so beautiful, he's always been, so perfect everytime she sees him. So perfect, that her heart breaks just thinking about him.

And the past three weeks have been so much more than just a wonderful dream.

 _"Wow, you… you look amazing," he stutters, about a second or two after she opens the apartment door._

She could be in a housedress and curlers, and he would tell her the same thing. That's just how he is.

" _You are luminous with a kind of delicate grace…_ "

It's how he's always been around her, ever since the first time they met. "Cute Scientist Guy," the noisy boy in the coffee shop. He had her attention the moment he said she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life, and then he had her heart the moment he walked out the door ten minutes before 1995. And since then, no one else ever came close to him.

 _"We should turn here," he says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze and leading her across the street._

No one else came close to how sweet he was, and how gentle he was, how smart and methodical, and how it felt like being lucid in a Technicolor Monet daydream whenever she was with him. Every hello by chance and inevitable goodbye after, always seemed like a struggle to not wake up.

 _"Are you okay, Phoebe?" he asks and smiles at her._

There might as well be a million fireflies where the yellow and red and orange city lights sparkle around him, she thinks, and nods back. The lamp posts spill white beams over his shoulder, illuminating half of his face and leaving the other half cast in blue shadows as they walk.

He wasn't the _first_ love of her life (there was Duncan after all), and they never officially got to say it to each other but for so long, it was David she had dreamed of. David, she had wanted. _David._

 _"I'm just… I was just thinking. Sorry—" she laughs weakly, calming the flutter in her chest. Calming that little voice in her head that's getting louder by the minute. "I'm sorry,_ David _."_

 _"No, no, it's okay," he exhales, and then he stares at her intently, and the flutter comes back. "What are you thinking about?"_

 _She considers, briefly pausing before answering. "How happy I am that you're finally back."_

 _The corners of her mouth pull back into a smile. This much is true. For the most part._

 _She lets out a breath and says it again. "I'm really happy that you're back, David."_

It's the same sweet kiss that she tastes when his mouth finds hers, and the same warmth she presses into as he embraces her tight against his body. He is here now. _David_ is really here with her. Not thousands of miles away in some dark, dank laboratory in Minsk with microscopes and beakers and… and ' _all the science stuff._ ' No, _David_ is here now.

She had dreamt about this moment so many times.

 _"Mmm… wow…" he mumbles as he pulls back._

The wind is just beginning to get to a slight crisp and the sky is already starting to show a light silver dusting of stars across its deep navy. They stroll, fingers interlaced snugly, along Central Park.

Finally, she isn't dreaming anymore.

 _"By the way, erm— I'm really looking forward to next— next weekend," he stutters, "You know, Barbados—"_

And she knows she should be happy.

 _"I'm really glad you guys invited me. It's just— it's been so long since I had an actual vacation…"_

She knows she shouldn't be wishing for someone else.

 _"I mean I can't— I can't really go out to the beach and all because of the sun, but…"_

She knows it's not his name she wants to say anymore.

 _"…but still, it's you and me and a good window view of the ocean," he chuckles, "Right?"_

But she goes ahead and says it anyway.

 _"Right. The ocean, me, and you…_ David _."_

He beams wide and she can practically feel his deep brown eyes boring into her. Her heart thuds wildly in her chest, and she takes in a deep breath, smiling back at him and hoping her ribcage doesn't give way.

David has always been so beautiful, so perfect, and she loved him so much before as a dream.

 _"_ _Мне так хорошо с тобою-"_

But now, she is awake and David is real.

 _"What does it mean?"_

And it makes her heart break, realising it. Realising that this reality is not a dream.

 _"I feel so good when I'm next to you."_

Because the reality is, she's in love with someone else.

#

You used to be good at this. _Really_ good. Five hours is more than enough to come up with at least a single, solid defense, and you know you have a lot more than just one. You do. Jury might be leaning more on the prosecution's side, given that his evidence stretches back years, and the relevance of history in this case cannot in any way be precluded from consideration.

But she's the judge today. She decides who wins. So, you rack your brain on the Delta ETA 20:05 to Barbados for all the right words to say because you're not going down without a fight.

You can't lose her.

You thought the hardest was already over, the moment you finished the last glass of whiskey and decided you're being stupid. _So what? Big deal! So you love her_ , you said to your blurry reflection on the counter. _You've loved other girls before, what's the difference now?_ As if that argument was convincing. You'll find someone – just as beautiful, just as incredible. _Someone better_.

In the middle of the night, you'd wake up and find her standing in the en suite doorway. Long legs, blonde hair, and pale skin soaking up the fluorescent light. You'd find yourself praying she would take a minute longer, checking herself in the mirror, because from this angle, she looked ethereal and perfect. She looked like _her_. _Phoebe_ , you'd call out. _Phoeb, come back to bed._ You'd beckon for her to crawl back under the covers with you, and wrap her arms around you, to rest her head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat because after all, it's only her that your heart beats for. _Phoebe_. It's her name you want to say, but you hear your own hoarse voice say something else and your minute is gone.

You thought the hardest was over, three months in. You've found that flowers and guitars, coffee shops and lovers holding hands in the park still remind you too much, but you can get into work without trouble if you just keep your head down while you walk. You've found keeping your eyes open while your fingers run through your new girlfriend's hair, and keeping said girlfriend's picture on the coffee table while you do it on the couch, helps you get through it without any suspicion or guilt or incessant, useless _talk._ You thought it was finally starting to get easier.

Until suddenly, it's 12:30 PM on a Friday, and you just got off a phone call and

 _She's going to say yes? To David? She's going to marry David?_

You find out it's not over.

Everything is left hanging in the air.

The plane lands and you run out the cabin door into the crowded airport maze. You have no luggage, no phone, no map, and no idea if you remembered the hotel name correctly ("Paradise Hotel or something!" you yell at the cab driver and shove a fistful of bills at him. You'll regret losing $500 in the morning, but you'll regret a hell of a lot more if he had kept staring instead of driving). You spend an hour in traffic with your stomach in knots and your mind racing. What if you're too late? What if she's already said yes? What is she going to say? Will she care that you're there? Will she take off her engagement ring and break it off when you show up? She will, right? _What are you going to say?_

There's no answer to any of these questions, now that she's staring at you, and your chest is seconds to exploding, fighting the urge to just take her and kiss her and hope in whatever space is left between, you can somehow translate everything you want to but cannot say.

" _What are… what are you doing here?_ "

You get just one more chance. One more round to win the finger fight. One more key to play on the air piano.

" _I have a question I need to ask you._ "

So you lay your case down, deliver the best defense you've got.

" _Phoebe, I love you_ —"

And you hope for the best.

This is the hardest.

#

{Dear} *sorry, out of habit

Hi, Mike

Short disclaimer {before I start}: in case you're wondering why I sent you this, {trust me, I'm not so su} I thought it would be best to spare us both {the awk} another meeting{, since I don't think I can sti}. Also, I believe I can express the things I want to say better in this manner than if were to talk {face to face}.

By the way, I just want to say upfront, I'm sorry if the errors bother you. I'm in a hurry right now and have no time to edit. {As you can see, this is completely written on very fairly clean paper towels.}

{All I want to say is} If you're actually reading this {and haven't crumpled it up yet}, could you just crumple and throw this out when you're done? It might be best not to let Phoebe see this. {I mean, not that this has} There is nothing potentially incriminating here, I assure. Please know that despite this {rather unpropitious} given turn of events, I bear no {more than slight resentment} ill feelings toward you. In fact, my invitation remains open: should you ever be interested in visiting Minsk in the spring, {I can ask some friends to show you around} let me know. I just think it's best that we keep the contents of this letter between the two of us.

{You see,} {Not that you need to know} I will be on the red eye back to Minsk tonight. I am going to be catching the last flight out from New York. {Luckily, I've managed to return the engagement ring and buy a ticket} I am sending you this because I {happen to} have just a few more things on my mind.

I just want to say that as much as I would have preferred to have the upper hand over you, I accept that the unidirectional nature of time governing the systems in which we exist at present does not favor the sequence of events that would have been most ideal for me {unfortunately}. Although, and to an extent this may seem regrettable, I do have two devices left to keep me afloat in this otherwise bleak outcome in which I find myself: memories and the compound multi-verse theory.

{Please} Don't worry, I will not delve into a detailed explanation of abovementioned theory {unless, considering,} {I suppose you must be familiar}. I merely suggest that you consider this: Phoebe does not solely belong to you.

You see, according to this theory, there is another universe in which I am still in New York. This theory states that in another universe, I am telling her that I love her and she is saying she loves me back. In this other universe, I am with her as she lives through her great losses, comforting her in her time of need. In another universe, I am the one she wants to be with for the rest of her life. The multi-verse theory assumes that there is a dimension where you never come along; a dimension where I get to be happy with her, and she, with only me. There is a dimension where all three of us lead lives so unimaginably distant from each other, that we never discover the height of happiness and depth of pain imprinted on the two sides of fate we are facing right now.

I realize that with these propositions, I am going beyond, perhaps even against, the principles of physics, principles which I stand for. {Of course, I trust that you will not tell on me} Understandably, and I believe I have earlier stated, we exist {sadly} within dimensions that have not permitted any of the said occurrences to actually {occur} happen. Nonetheless, I stand by my advice, {not that you ever solicited any from me} consider the multi-verse theory. {It is a consolation to myself that} The existing laws governing the known universe does not limit us to consider the possibilities and the highly improbable probabilities of life so, in so many words, congratulations. You were the probability that this universe favored. Perhaps, I am in another, and it could have also been neither of us.

All things considered, {if you have reached this part and the paper is still intact}, I just want to say {Congratulations!} remember {your luck always} and never forget to

*sorry about the coffee stain

Love her with all you've got. She deserves nothing less.

David

PS. Again, please just {could you not forget to just} throw this away{?} *preferably after reading. Thanks.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I'm sorry.


	12. Before TOW Phoebe Meets Precious

**BEFORE THE ONE WHERE PHOEBE MEETS PRECIOUS**

The sun has already broken by the time they get back to the hotel lobby, drenched from rain and covered in sand, and lightly slipping on the muddy tracks that follow their own footsteps. The concierge shakes his head in disapproval as he watches them walk past, whispering and petting and occasionally breaking out into hysterical giggling – far too lost in a different world to even care about the existence of anybody else – or for that matter, the janitor, whose gasp at the sight of them walking across the particularly white and downy carpet in the hall should have been loud enough to hear.

Mike turns the key and holds back for a second at the doorway, watching as Phoebe walks toward the bed and crashes down on it, mascara smeared across her closed eyelids, allowing himself more time to take in her image. The downpour and the beach did a good job on her alright, he thinks, marveling at her glistening legs stretched across the duvet and the dirt-stained white blouse that had decidedly clung to all the right places, rising and falling as she breathes. He wonders how many nights she had looked this peaceful asleep, and how many nights he'd missed seeing her look like this asleep. A surge of want ascends from his stomach and hangs suspended somewhere between his chest and his throat, and he grips the doorknob tighter. It feels like guilt and gratitude and regret and tremendous longing, amid a cocktail of emotions that's cemented him firmly to the ground – in plain view of his heart, lying on the bed. The heart he almost lost. Yet, he wouldn't be able to move until he hears her tell him again.

"You're not dreaming…"

Phoebe stirs and turns toward him on her side, her lashes fluttering as she opens her eyes and a lazy smile playing on her lips. "Come here. I don't want to miss you so much again."

He lets out a deep breath, relaxing at the sound of her words, and finally closes the door before approaching the bed. He lies down on his side next to her and lets her push his matted hair back from his forehead, staring at her face as her fingers trace lightly over his, and trying hard not to think about the months he's struggled to remember how this felt like.

"We have to start packing soon," she murmurs.

Mike knits his brows with a grumble. "No, I don't want to…"

He grasps her hand on his cheek, holding it in place. Phoebe laughs.

"You don't even have anything to pack!"

His eyes widen and he makes a face, and she giggles even more.

"Right. I've to buy a shirt from the souvenir shop—oof, my card's getting a workout in this place."

"Well, at least someone around here is-"

She pokes him in the stomach playfully and moves to sit up, but he grabs her from behind, tickling her to fits.

"What, I thought you'd find me cute like this. Like the Pillsbury Doughboy…"

The sound of her laughter fills his ears, and he can't help but join her in chorus. Like an old song he never thought he would hear again, it's the only thing he wants to play over and over, everything else slipping from his mind.

Phoebe crashes back down on the bed and Mike heaves himself up to all fours, straddling her, hands planted firmly beside both sides of her head. Outside the window, the clouds draw back for the first time in days; the sun finally taking rightful ownership of the skies.

A small lingering thought creeps at him from the back of his mind. A certain girl who would soon wake up and wait by the phone for a call that he doesn't want to make. _There's something I should tell you._

But the rays filter in just enough to swathe their two almost bare bodies in the pale glint of morning light; they come together and he realises, soon enough, his senses will drown out reason and that other girl from his consciousness will be forgotten yet again.

"Phoebe, I—I have to-"

"Kiss me…"

Two words and, like wax under a burning wick, he melts into her for the umpteenth time in that hotel room. _I have to tell you, I have a girlfriend._ The harmonious music of their bodies fusing together crawls and resonates under his very skin. _She's blonde and tall and pretty, and I felt nothing for her._

"I love you," Mike says, in between breaths. _I have to tell you._ He draws back slightly. _I thought I could replace you._

Phoebe exhales a moan in reply, her teeth skimming over his lower lip before clamping down on it, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

"I love you," he says again. _I need to tell you._

She peaks and shudders, and everything dissolves into a blissful blank space as she takes him up the same high. Time and memory, and all that might have been precious outside of this moment, forgotten, save for the only words that he can't erase from his mind.

"I love you, _Phoebe…_ "

#

Mike knocks three times and takes in a sharp breath, bracing himself and praying nobody else would walk across the hall right now. Not when he is standing outside someone else's room, in Phoebe's satin floral bathrobe. No matter that it feels damn nice on his skin, he thinks, fingers clasping tighter around the soiled shirt and the bottle in both hands. The door opens and he smiles weakly back at Chandler, still in pyjamas.

"Hey, man…"

Chandler does a double-take at the sight of him, eyebrows raised and now fully awake. Mike can only imagine the jokes racing around in his head. They stand across each other, wordless, for a good moment before Mike awkwardly breaks the silence.

"Monica here?"

Chandler's face relaxes slightly and he nods.

"Sure. Mon!" he calls over his shoulder, "Liberace's in the building!"

"Good morning to you, too-" Mike replies with a smirk as Chandler shuts the door after him.

Monica emerges from the bathroom, her tresses still in fully puffed out glory, exasperation drawn on her face, before she stifles a laugh at seeing their visitor. Chandler seizes the opportunity.

"I'm sorry. We ordered _room service._ Not _this_ kind of service."

"Very funny. I'm out of clothes, so Phoebe let me borrow her robe-"

"You look like a hairy cake!"

Monica caves in at last, completely in stitches; Chandler grins triumphantly. Mike lets him have his moment of glory, arms crossed over his chest.

"What—what's up, Mike?" Monica asks, rubbing tears from her eyes as her laughter finally subsides.

"Nothing actually. I just—I came by to return this, er, shirt that I borrowed."

He hands Chandler the formerly white garment, now smeared with mud and very clearly wrung more than once. Mangled, at this point, to be exact. Chandler makes a face at the thing, hesitant to even accept it, and almost immediately proceeds to the bathroom to give it a wash.

"Also, Phoebe and I went out last night. We, er, we got you some conditioner to help, you know, with-" he says to Monica, one hand hovering beside his head and the other, proffering her the small unlabeled bottle. No need to state the obvious.

"The hotel ones are really just soap so it's not gunna do much about the humidity other than dry your hair out more."

"Oh, thank you," Monica smiles, taking the bottle from him. "Although, you were able to get conditioner and didn't even think about buying a shirt?"

"Well, it was a drugstore. They didn't really have shirts there so—"

Monica pops the bottle lid open and smells the liquid inside. "Mmm… you're so sweet. Could have used it two days ago but thanks!"

Mike fidgets in place, thinking twice about the next words he feels he has to say.

"I was just going to the salon actually, you-"

"Monica," he interrupts, a slight tremble in his voice.

"Yea?"

"I, er, I haven't really thanked you yet for… you know…"

"For wha—oh, for the paddle? No, that's nothing. It's too easy sneaking out stuff around he-"

"No, it's not that—although, yea, thanks for that, too—"

His eyes follow her as she goes about the room, grabbing suitcases from the closet and hauling them on the bed.

"—I just, I mean… thank you… for calling me."

Monica pauses and looks over her shoulder at him.

"Thank you for taking care of Phoebe all this time and telling me about…" Mike wrings his hands, "…about, you know, David. I don't—I don't know what I would have done… if I found out too late."

He takes her hand and pulls her into an embrace, a little unsure about how she's going to react, but he eases upon realising she's hugging him back.

"Oh, you're welcome," Monica says, patting him gently on the back.

"And I'm sorry for the crap I said while we were playing ping-pong," he mumbles, "I can get pretty competitive…"

"That's okay, I don't mind," Monica chuckles, "—as long as I win, of course."

Chandler walks out of the bathroom, catching them in each other's arms, and stops in his tracks. Monica shoves Mike back, leaving him to fumble for something to say.

"I was, er, just thanking Monica for, er, for calling me… the other day…"

"Yep," Monica interrupts, "Just a thank you hug is all-"

Chandler replies with a snicker, and walks toward the closet.

"That's okay, I heard you from the bathroom," he grabs a clean shirt and his pants. "And plus, you look like that," he jeers at Mike, "I'm not worried."

He saunters and disappears into the bathroom again.

"Anyway, so that's just what I came here for," Mike says, "Thanks, Mon."

"Don't mention it," Monica replies, smiling, "Besides, I already beat you at something, so I guess, you're one of us now."

"No, Chandl-"

Mike stops himself before he can finish, her wide eyes warning him.

"Right," he laughs weakly, "you beat me…"

Monica beams in approval.

"Okay, so I guess I'll head back," Mike says, making his way to the door. He pauses at the entry and reaches out for a handshake. "Friends?"

Monica clasps his hand and gives it a firm shake; Mike tries hard to hide a grimace of pain.

"Friends," she replies, "And Mike, take care of her. I know Phoebe can be a handful, but she loves you a lot so just try not to break her heart again."

No sooner than Monica closes the door, Mike feels himself sink into a pit in his stomach.


End file.
